


In My Shirt

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baking Neville, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining Ish, Sharing a Bed, Waking Up Together ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23799550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: Hermione awakens to the smell of biscuits. The only problem? She was alone when she went to bed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 43
Kudos: 225
Collections: Best of NevMione





	In My Shirt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feelingofthesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelingofthesea/gifts).



> Inspired by a manip LadyKenz347 posted to Facebook and a prompt feelingofthesea submitted for a two-part drabble game I shared on Tumblr to write this! I adapted the prompt a bit to make it fit, but the fic kind of ran away with me. I promise it's nothing but wholesome, feel good fluff. 
> 
> Prompt: 15 - “If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re more stupid than I thought.”  
> 25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be.
> 
> This has not been alpha or beta read, so all mistakes are my own. It's also my first time writing Neville, so be gentle please lol. Thanks for checking it out!

Beyond abstract grumblings regarding the hour and the gods-damned birds chirping outside her window, Hermione Granger’s first coherent thought was that her flat smelled of biscuits.

Bleary-eyed, she rolled out of bed, casting about blindly for a shirt to throw on overtop her bed head. When her fingers collided with soft, worn fabric, she pulled it on, sliding her feet into slippers while working through a string of muttered curses she would be hard-pressed to recall later and which filtered through her brain in an idle, stereo static.

It was only by muscle memory that she grabbed her wand from the bedside table before she shuffled down the hall.

The smell of biscuits grew stronger—a heavenly scent when she paused to acknowledge it—but when the kitchen came into sight, it was empty save a singular plate alongside a neat stack of freshly-washed dishes.

_What even—_

The thought that quickly followed was ridiculous: someone had broken into her flat, pilfered her baking supplies, and absconded without leaving any for her.

Though upon closer inspection— 

Wand still raised before her, Hermione padded across the small space, eyeing a dozen perfectly round snickerdoodles cooling on the porcelain. As she extended her hand to investigate, a quiet beeping sounded, and she turned, eyeing the cooker suspiciously.

Somewhere behind her, a door opened, followed by the creak of the one floorboard in her flat that wasn’t silent, and she whirled, wand pointing into the face of the intruder.

“Hermione?”

She knew that voice—there was only one person that squeaked so endearingly when they were nervous. 

And he was _not_ supposed to be here.

“ _Neville_?!” 

Sure enough, his wide, mossy eyes stared back at her from the business end of her wand. He’d raised his hands in supplication up near his ears, and a light blush stained his cheeks. “G’morning?” 

Perhaps it was the gravel of sleep still in his voice or the way he slowly lowered his hand to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck, but Hermione deflated, wand hand dropping limply to her side as the beeping sounded again. 

Peering over her shoulder, Neville prodded, “May I? They’ll burn.”

Mutely, she stepped aside, watching as he concentrated on waving his wand to summon a spatula, carefully plating the biscuits as she watched. “Why are you here?” she finally managed, drawing her lip thoughtfully between her teeth. 

His shoulders—bare, _buff_ shoulders, she noticed belatedly—tightened, and he didn’t speak until all the biscuits had been safely transferred to a plate. Then, he propped a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. “You don’t remember?”

The question was laced with such innocence that Hermione couldn’t bring herself to loosen the sigh that threatened. Instead, she shook her head. “I don’t. I came home from Hogwarts after the Remembrance Ball and went to bed.” Again she drew her lip between her teeth. “Didn’t have much energy for anything else if I’m honest.”

The way a furrow settled between his brows displayed his agreeance. “That’s fair. It was a long day.”

“And _I_ wasn’t the one that had to give the speech this year.” Reaching around him, she snagged a snickerdoodle, ignoring the way his skin broke out in gooseflesh at the slight contact. “It was really well done, by the way.”

Another sheepish flush burned up his cheeks, and in that moment, Hermione decided she rather liked Neville with a bit of crimson stain. He looked away, snagging a biscuit of his own and popping it into his mouth. “Thanks. I practiced it with Pomona. She’s always been supportive.”

“Right,” Hermione murmured, no longer focused on the conversation.

He had a crumb, just there on the upper crest of his Cupid’s bow, and she found herself rather taken with the notion of kissing it off.

Especially since he was _here_ , in her flat. Without a shirt on and what appeared to be dress slacks hastily transfigured into pyjamas slung low on his hips. 

Though, if she was honest, she’d been rather taken by the idea of kissing Neville for quite some time. Regardless of his location or state of undress.

She froze, gaze shooting to his when she realised he’d stopped speaking and was staring at her intently. “We didn’t—oh Merlin, we didn’t do… we didn’t—” The fear that rooted her to the spot turned to mortification, and she wheeled around, pacing the length of the island as she rambled. “Neville, I don’t know what happened last night, but I hope you didn’t get the wrong impres—”

“Hermione, nothing happened,” he interrupted, approaching her and cupping her elbows in his palms. “Listen to me, yeah?”

Mutely, she nodded, bracing herself on his upper arms. Nice, well-defined—he’d really aged quite beautifully since Hogwarts.

“Like you said, you came home and went to bed after the ball.” Slowly, he led her to the sofa, helping her settle down on one end before he sat himself in the middle, long leg curled beneath him. “Round about half two, Harry Flooed me and asked if I’d come check on you. He said you were meant to send him a Patronus when he got home, but since he hadn’t heard from you, he was worried.” 

Hermione frowned. “But why did he send you?”

Neville’s gaze flickered away from hers, his hand tightening for a moment on the back of the couch. “He knows we’ve been working on the aconite replenishment project together and assumed I would have Floo access. Since he knows I care about you and he was busy with James and Albus, he asked me—”

Heat tickled her own cheeks as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You care about me?”

His expression shifted comically between panic and terror, landing on an awkward grimace while he backtracked. “Well, er—of course I do. You’re one of my best mates and a business partner. And, uh… well, with all the fallout between you and Ron, Harry didn’t want to send him, and I had… um, I’d once offered to help you any way you needed it when Harry and I were at the pub together, and—”

She lifted her hand, settling it atop his where it desperately clutched the back cushion. She ought to have been mad at what she suspected he'd done, but she found the sweet nervous rambling endearing—that he was nervous he'd upset her when he was trying to help. “What happened, Neville?”

Gratitude flashed through his eyes as he ran with the question. “I Floo called to check on you, but you didn’t answer. I was worried, so I came through.” He rubbed the back of his neck again with his free hand. Hermione didn’t dare move when he flipped his palm upright beneath hers, rubbing soothing circles on her skin. “You were having a nightmare. I don’t know what about—you were thrashing and sweating, muttering something about not stealing it.” His lips flightened. “I know I shouldn't have come in without asking, but you just looked so scared.”

Without thinking, Hermione began to move away, embarrassment clawing at her throat as tears stung her eyes. “I’m sorry, Nev. I—I didn’t want anyone to know; I don’t even remember last night, so it must not have been as bad as normal.”

But his hand tightened on hers, the other tilting her chin back to him. “Please don’t be embarrassed—I get them, too.” That warm, welcoming smile of his that drew her to him in the first place curled his lips, and he leaned into her, unlacing their hands and tentatively pulling her against his chest. His voice rumbled against her, soothing. “I didn’t know what to do—Gran always says not to wake someone up when they’re having a nightmare—so I shucked off the godsawful suit Draco talked me into and got into bed.”

Hermione closed her eyes, vague memories of the bed dipping breaking through remembered abject terror of a hazy nightmare. “And that’s it? You just, what? Got into bed with me?”

Neville’s laughter shook her. “No, you walnut, I held you. Nearly took out my eye when you jerked around again, but it seemed to do the job. You fell peacefully asleep right quickly afterward.” 

A genuine smile broke out on her cheeks as she leaned back and peered up at him. “And this morning?”

“I thought you might like to wake up to biscuits?” He shrugged, summoning the plate with a careful, textbook swish of his wand. He smiled proudly when it floated towards them—another project they’d been working on together. With a lifted brow, he offered her one. 

They chewed in silence for a moment, a tiny sliver of space between them before he tilted his face down to hers again, gaze searching hers. “So how _did_ you sleep?”

Butterflies erupted in her stomach at his proximity. “The best I have in months. I haven’t felt this rested in—” She paused, racking her brain. “In years, honestly.” 

He nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear absently. Almost as though it was a habit. The intimate gesture sent nerves chasing through her stomach as he said, “I slept well, too.”

She could feel it, then, the precipice on which they were teetering, and with a long inhale, she lept. “Would have been better to wake up next to you.”

His expression did that rapid change again, cycling through a hundred different emotions before it landed on a final one: hope.

“Yeah?” It was little more than a whisper.

But Hermione nodded, tongue flicking out to wet her lips, his eyes following the movement. “Yeah.” Another deep breath. “Though the biscuits were a nice touch.”

Neville loosed a surprised belly laugh, but then his hand cradled her jaw, expression sobering. “Hermione?”

She couldn’t breathe; her heart was somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, and for as many words as she had at her disposal every day, all she could manage was a strangled, “Hmm?”

A crooked smile lifted Neville’s lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Please do.”

And then his lips were on hers. She’d thought he would be gentle, exploratory and timid, but his fingers slipped into the nape of her hair cascading down her back. He nipped at her playfully, peppering kisses over the bow and corners of her lips, laughing into the kiss when she whined and twined her hands behind his neck. 

When he broke away, they were both breathing heavily, but his eyes gleamed satisfactorily when he pressed his forehead against hers.

Her heart was trying to force its way out from beneath her ribcage, but she closed her eyes, savouring the racing. It made her feel alive. 

After a moment, she leaned back enough to search his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered, fingers leaving her hair to idly trace her jaw. “Alright?”

A laugh tinkled out of her as she nodded, turning her head to kiss his palm. “More than alright.” 

Laugh lines spiderwebbed out from the corners of his eyes as he grinned down at her. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Yeah? Well then what took you so long?” she wheedled, allowing her exploration of his skin to wander over his ribs.

His breath stuck in his throat for a moment, a shiver rolling over his limbs. “Scared, mostly. You’re a bright witch, Hermione. Surely you had some idea that I had— _have_ —feelings for you. You’re intimidating—you _petrified_ me in our first year!”

The twinkle in his expression belied the words, but Hermione swatted him lightly anyway. “So what changed this morning?”

Lifting a shoulder, he replied. “Maybe because I spent all night holding you.” The soft sincerity in his voice turned heated quickly as he glanced down at her. “Maybe it’s because I walked into your kitchen and saw you in my shirt.” Grinning cheekily, he added, “The world may never know.” 

Huffing a laugh, Hermione unfolded her legs and rose up on her knees, muttering “Thank Merlin for snickerdoodles and your shirt,” before she launched herself at him, sealing her lips to his once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a request? Find me on [Tumblr](https://ravenslightwrites.tumblr.com/)


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